


We are Lost, Together

by Charmtion



Series: We are Wolves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Healing, Homecoming, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmtion/pseuds/Charmtion
Summary: His fingertips are soft as feathers, stroking, stoking, setting her skin to flame. For so long she has been frozen: but here,now, she is melting.The stars are cold above Winterfell, but two souls find warmth in each other//Sansa stands alone on the battlements; Jon promises to protect her.





	We are Lost, Together

Endless — the sky above Winterfell. Black silk, midnight velvet: marked by half a thousand stars. White, grey, gold — they shine and spark as if the gods have struck a flint to flame and sent scattered embers to spread like wildflowers across sky so dark-blue it glitters. The world is cold this far north: snow and ice, hard frost and frozen stone. _That is how it should be_. Icy air kisses her cheeks, turns strands of hair red as flame to silver. She shimmers in the moonlight: white, grey, gold — as bright as the stars. Fingers of black velvet burn with the ice on her cheek.

“I will protect you,” whispers Jon Snow. “I promise.”

She does not know what to call this heat that warms her blood beneath the black velvet of sky and touch. For so long, she has been frozen: ice-blue, ice-cold — blooming like a winter rose in the grip of half a hundred thorns. Pretty petals — but fragile: they break at the brush of fingertips. _But not his_ … His fingertips are soft as feathers, stroking, stoking, setting her skin to flame. For so long she has been frozen: but here, _now_ , she is melting.

“No one can protect me,” says Sansa Stark. “I am lost.”

Slowly, black velvet falls away: fingers bone-white rest the porcelain of her cheek. A rough thumb at her chin — she turns to him and he is there. _His eyes_. Endless — like the sky above Winterfell. His eyes are everything: her father, her sister, her brothers, her wolf. _Dead, disappeared_ — _dust, dust, dust_ … Grey like winter storm, they drink the sapphire of her gaze. A rough thumb at her mouth — sweeping the silk of her lower lip. _His eyes_. Endless — full of the mourning of moon and star: they are as drowned in grief as hers are. But there are stars in the black depths, too. White, grey, gold — they shine and spark as if the gods have struck a flint to flame and sent scattered embers to spread like wildflowers in his eyes.

“No,” says Jon Snow. “You are found.”

He kisses her, here, _now_ , beneath the endless sky covering Winterfell.

What is this heat that warms her blood? It is not the sting of a flayman’s knife, it is not the scratch of a lion’s claw, it is not the silver of a mockingbird’s kiss. _What is it?_ It is the taste of a lifetime past: honey-wine, lemon cake, sunlit gardens, silken gowns, pretty laughter, mother’s smile, father’s gaze, life begun, life _before_... Her mouth parts beneath his: tongue and teeth and taste — they melt together. Dizzying, drifting — she spins bright as the stars against his lips. The world is cold this far north; but here, _now_ , she is warm. Fingers spin into her hair: bone-white marked by tendrils of flame. Her hands are at his face, clutching tight, holding firm — he is all, he is _everything_ , she cannot let him slip to shadows in the snow.

“We are lost,” whispers Sansa Stark. “Together.”

There is no shame — they are the _same_. They have risen high and fallen low, they have trod the halls of gods and men, they have shared the breath of kings and the beds of fools. What is shame to them? Shame has not saved them just as luck has cast them down, as fortune has ruined them, as men have struck and gods have cursed. Here, now, they stand together: shame is made sacred.

“Together,” says Jon Snow. “I promise.”

Endless — the sky above Winterfell. Black silk, midnight velvet: marked by half a thousand stars. White, grey, gold — they shine and spark as if the gods have struck a flint to flame and sent scattered embers to spread like wildflowers across sky so dark-blue it glitters. There, just beneath its ebony stretch, they stand — flame and shadow, fire and ice, wrapped together tight as the silver-grey boughs of the weirwood tree. Bone-white fingers find their way beneath furs: they mark her ribs, each and every, as an archer counts arrows. She shudders — their breath is warm smoke frosting the air between their mouths. He takes her lips again: his thumb a soft caress beneath the shadow of her breast.

For so long, she has been frozen: ice-blue, ice-cold — blooming like a winter rose in the grip of half a hundred thorns. Pretty petals — but fragile: they break at the brush of fingertips. _But not his_ … His fingertips are soft as feathers, stroking, stoking, setting her skin to flame. For so long she has been frozen: but here, _now_ , she is melting. Their smiles are silver as the stars arching endlessly over Winterfell.

A kiss, a promise: the north stretches before them as a dark song — they will take it, together.  _That is how it should be_...

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. _I will protect you_... lifted (very loosely) from one of the very rare snippets of _Game of Thrones_ I've actually seen a clip of: Jon and Sansa's reunion (S6E4).  
>  **NB** : I've never been a huge subscriber to the Jonsa ilk — thanks to the character of Val in the books and her 'relationship' with Jon — **but** I saw a screenshot of Jon and Sansa (not sure what episode) on the curtain wall of Winterfell and this was the result! Feel free to leave feedback etc. 🌙


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